Stargate Atlantis: The Chosen (Stargate Atlantis)

by Whitelaw, Sonny

  John instantly felt like a complete and total ass. “You’re right—I’m sorry. That was a low blow.”

  After an uncomfortable pause, Rodney spoke up again. “That said, I hope we’ve all learned a valuable lesson about listening to each other, or more specifically listening to me.”

  “On second thought, let’s go back to brooding in silence.”

  “Fine by me.”

  Unfortunately, the renewed quiet only served to magnify John’s frustration and sense of failure. Now he’d have to face Dr Weir and explain why he’d returned without two of his people. There weren’t many things that felt worse than that.

  The room had clearly not been intended for detention, which lent weight to Yann’s assertions that they did not wish to harm their…visitors. It was relatively well-lit, it had chairs—such as they were—and a small opening high in the wall served as a window. There even was a plate with a loaf of hard bread and some fruit sitting on the table.

  Nonetheless, Lieutenant Ford was sitting in a chair, his spine rigid and his expression blank. If Yann and his rebels did not view him as a prisoner, the young Marine certainly behaved as one.

  Teyla stood underneath the crude window and stared out at the evening sky, trying vainly to give order to her thoughts. A great many of her convictions had been tested of late, forcing her to question herself more strongly each time.

  It had seemed simpler, once. The peoples she had encountered were fellow traders, willing and often eager to assist each other. Perhaps the shared menace of the Wraith had colored her viewpoint, but she had considered almost all of her acquaintances to be kindred. Only when she began to journey with the Earth Atlantis team had she come to recognize greater differences between worlds.

  The deception practiced so expertly by Sora still troubled Teyla. Was her trust so easily manipulated? When had the Genii traded compassion for self-preservation? What of the Hoffans, who had abandoned their morality with respect even to their own kind? No one could deny that the Wraith ignited desperation in their victims. But rather than bond together to face a common foe, so many seemed prone to battle among themselves. In that way, the people of this planet were no different from many others.

  The Dalerans’ plight touched her, more so perhaps because of her earlier misjudgment. Still, the providing them with the gene therapy alone would not offer a solution to their social inequities.

  That, of course, presupposed that she and Lieutenant Ford would be freed according to the rebels’ demands. Her faith in her teammates ran deep. Major Sheppard would sooner cut off his own arm than leave his comrades at risk, and while Dr McKay was decidedly less intrepid, his intellect could very well prove useful. She only hoped that in resolving the situation, they would also, somehow, find a way to free these people from their current fate.

  Clearly sharing her thoughts, Ford finally spoke up. “Think Dr Weir will agree to give these guys what they want?”

  “I believe you to be better qualified than me to answer that.”

  He chewed on his lip. “If we were on Earth, I’d say no way. That’s not how we do things. But sometimes, even though it’s obvious, I have to remind myself to stop thinking like I’m back there. We’re a long way from Earth, in more ways than one.”

  They lapsed into silence again, and Teyla wondered if the Lieutenant’s home could possibly feel as distant to him as Athos now did to her.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Predictably, Rodney didn’t react all that well to her answer. “I see. What a relief it is to know that all matters get such careful consideration. That took you all of three seconds to decide.”

  A flare of white-hot anger surged up, and Elizabeth pinned him in place with her stare. “After your unilateral decision to tell the Dalerans about the gene therapy, you have the nerve to accuse me of going off half-cocked?”

  They faced each other down across her desk. Off to the side, Carson and John wisely kept their mouths shut.

  “I didn’t exactly have the opportunity to form a committee to discuss it,” Rodney argued. “Also—and you may think this a minor point—this further proves my previous assertion about the utility of the gene therapy.”

  Elizabeth rubbed her temple wearily. The moment the jumper had returned carrying only half her team, she’d felt an all-too-familiar sense of dread. Somehow, no matter what they did in this galaxy, nothing came without a price. Could they—could she—have done something to prevent this? Had they failed yet again under noble intentions? “I understand your point, Rodney, and I agree that genetic inequality is at the heart of the problem. But the circumstances are shifting quickly right now. If we give in to terror tactics, we’re setting ourselves up to be continually manipulated. I won’t allow that.”

  The scientist scowled. “Like so many things, it’s a matter of perspective,” he said. “One man’s terrorist is another man’s revolutionary. How did your country come by its independence, by the way?”

  “It’s hardly the same—”

  “It’s exactly the same. And not only is the ‘we don’t negotiate with terrorists’ mantra both trite and unreasonably inflexible, it also happens to be counterproductive in this situation. They’re asking us for something we intended to give them already.”

  Rodney stalked across the office. “Let’s also bear in mind our diminishing options here. Aside from leaving Ford and Teyla to their aromatic paradise, what else do you suggest we do?”

  Elizabeth slid her gaze over to her military advisor. John’s expression told her that he didn’t like the situation any more than she did. “A six-man team,” he replied to the unspoken question. “Can’t go in completely covert, since they’ll know we’re coming, but a second jumper could go in cloaked, and the team could move out after I head-fake Yann and his buddies into thinking I’m complying with their demands. Smoke grenades should help keep the casualties low. But without confirmation of their exact location and the number of unfriendlies around, there’s no way to guarantee a clean fight. On either side.”

  As the scenario was outlined in cool, almost clinical terms, apprehension was becoming increasingly visible on Rodney’s face. “They haven’t directly threatened our people,” he said quietly. “Unlike the Genii, it was clear that they have no intentions of hurting anyone.”

  John’s response was a short bark of humorless laughter. “Not unless we refuse their ultimatum, no. But what happens if we do? They just give up and let Ford and Teyla go? The ‘or else’ was kind of implied.”

  Expecting Rodney to snap back at the Major, Elizabeth was surprised when he instead dropped his gaze. John looked deadly serious, though, and she wouldn’t have wanted to cross him just then, either. Losing people tended to do that to an officer. “I’d like your opinion, Major,” she said, turning fully toward him. “Is a rescue really practical, and if so, what happens next?”

  Arms folded across his chest, John exhaled a long breath. “I don’t like having this many unknowns,” he replied. “And it’ll only get murkier once the shooting starts. Our Marines are trained for urban combat, but this wouldn’t be anything I’d call standard.”

  “Then there’s the matter of the Shields. I never did get a chance to test Zelenka’s theory about disabling the capacitor,” Rodney put in, his fire returning. “If we do this, we’ll lose any chance of learning something useful from this whole mess. Let’s also be clear that a military rescue mission implies leaving the Dalerans to their fate. All of them. There’s no way we can go back to help anyone if we’ve just busted in and out of there with guns blazing.”

  “Believe it or not, that did occur to me,” John informed him with exaggerated patience. “Look, I hate the precedent we’d be setting by caving in to a threat, and I really hate the idea of rewarding someone for jumping my team. But in a messed-up way, we can still achieve our objective. We can introduce the gene therapy—first to Yann’s group, then to others once things have calmed down and we have our team back. Like Rodney said, that gets us to where
we’d planned to be all along.”

  Elizabeth glanced at Carson, who’d stayed on the periphery of the discussion. “On a logistical level, do we have the reserves to provide enough of the gene therapy to satisfy these rebels?”

  The doctor gave a small shrug. “Synthesizing the stuff hasn’t posed much of a problem,” he answered. “After our talk a few days ago, about giving the treatment to more of the expedition members, I started increasing our reserves. We have a stock of about a hundred doses, but I’d want to keep twenty until we replenish that. I’ll need until morning to prepare a proper vaccination kit for the rest.”

  “The only way they can test whether it’s effective or not,” John put in, “is to handle one of the Shields. And since they’re going to have to overcome that cultural taboo anyway—”

  Elizabeth was already nodding. “You can simultaneously test people for the gene. In other words, the gene therapy may not prove to be necessary.”

  “With Lieutenant Ford and Teyla’s lives possibly at stake, I wouldn’t recommend giving them a placebo,” Carson said.

  Was she really that easy to read? “How did you know I was going to suggest that?”

  Shrugging, Carson replied, “It was a logical option, and one that I’d considered when I realized how prevalent the gene might be.”

  “I think we should consider contingency plans in case Yann and his group don’t hold up their end of the bargain.” Elizabeth turned back to John, who didn’t hesitate in his response.

  “Assuming they’ll want to see if the vaccine is effective, it could take a few days to distribute it and simultaneously test the right people. Tomorrow is Wednesday. If you don’t hear from us before Friday, wait until dark, then send in the cavalry.”

  “I guess we have our plan of action, then.” Elizabeth heard and despised the tinge of defeat in her voice. “Give them the gene. Get our people back.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Yann and his fishermen buddies were waiting at the clearing that had more or less become their official landing site. No sooner had the Major shut down the engines than the whole group came tromping up to the hatch.

  “Here goes nothing,” Sheppard muttered.

  Rodney hitched the medical pack on his shoulder and stepped out of the jumper.

  “You have brought the potion?” Yann asked in lieu of any greeting.

  “It’s right here.” Rodney patted the pack.

  Immediately, the pair of fishermen moved to take it from him, but Sheppard stepped in to block them. “We’ll hold onto it until we see our friends, all right?”

  Their faces twisted in identical scowls. “And how are we to know that the potion truly works?”

  Sheppard didn’t bat an eye. “This is not negotiable.”

  The men either didn’t recognize the word or didn’t care. Even though he was pretty sure the Major had stashed an additional weapon somewhere on his person, Rodney didn’t like these odds. “You need us to show you how to administer the gene therapy,” he said hurriedly, at last halting the men’s advance.

  Cocking a thumb over his shoulder at his teammate, Sheppard added, “What he said.”

  Yann raised his voice above the resentful grumbles. “It is a fair bargain. Come.”

  After retrieving their Shields, they were led back through the village and into the transport, a route Rodney was beginning to think he could now travel in his sleep. When the transport doors began to open, however, the dynamics of the situation once more abruptly shifted. A hard shove from behind propelled him out into the Sanctuary Hall. An even harder shove sent Yann sprawling out across the grubby floor, which, given the size of the merchant, was an indication of the aggression of the person doing the pushing.

  Rodney suspected that the only reason why he’d been treated to less force was that he was carrying the medical pack—which he would no doubt be divested of in short order, because it seemed that Yann wasn’t the only one who wanted it. Great. Things had just gone from extremely bad to incalculably worse.

  “What are you doing?” The merchant rolled over and shouted at his erstwhile fishermen buddies. “What is this?”

  The Sanctuary Hall was deserted except for some overfed official types who dressed more outrageously than Kesun, backed up by a bunch of goons armed with long daggers—or maybe they were short swords. For a brief moment, Rodney wondered if he and Sheppard had not somehow been transported into an entirely different city, perhaps even a different planet—until he noted that two of the goons were carrying their P-90s in such a way that suggested they’d figured out how to use them. Then Rodney spotted Balzar’s smirking face. “The genetherapy,” commanded the chief, stepping menacingly toward them. “The potion of which you spoke to Yann. Give it to us. And the small weapon you carry.” His eyes fell to the holster strapped to the Major’s leg.

  “Now, is that any way to ask?” Sheppard replied.

  “You wish to see your friends again?”

  Rodney could have sworn that, despite a moment’s hesitation, Sheppard handed over his handgun nicely, but the goons felt inspired to show them who was boss. While two of them held the Major’s arms behind his back, one sent a punch into his stomach that doubled him over. A second fist to Sheppard’s face jerked him out of the arms of the men and threw him against the wall of the transport. It didn’t knock the Major out, but as he pulled himself to his feet, spitting out a mouthful of blood, the cut on Rodney’s arm began a sympathetic ache.

  “What the hell did that prove?” The goons who had been doing the punching turned their attention to Rodney, and his brief burst of outrage evaporated. Backing away, he muttered, “Maybe I should just shut up.”

  “Good idea, Rodney.”

  Sheppard’s belated advice was lost, however, because Yann was now shouting at his ex-fishing buddies, “You…treacherous barbarian scum. You agreed that the potion should go to the poor!”

  “The poor have no knowledge of how to govern,” scoffed Balzar. He swung the handle of an axe against the young merchant’s legs, forcing him to his knees, and demanded of Rodney again, “The genetherapy?”

  Rodney saw no point in being beaten into submission. But as he pulled the pack from his shoulders, he was compelled to ask the other chiefly looking types, “Who are you people?”

  “Who are we?” snarled the largest of the overdressed officials. “You come to our city and conspire with village rabble like this—” He directed a ruthless kick at Yann’s left kidney, which sent the young merchant sprawling again. “—to overthrow our rule, and you demand to know who we are?”

  “Your rule,” choked Rodney. “But I thought…”It was then that he realized that none of the officials wore Shields. They weren’t Chosen. Given the air of absolute authority being wielded, the awful truth struck him with a force that was almost as crippling as the blows that had been rained on Sheppard and Yann.

  Balzar snatched the bag from his hands and handed it to the official doing the talking. The man wrestled with the unfamiliar pack for a moment before taking a step forward and shoving it in Rodney’s face. “I am Gat, the high chief of all of Dalera, and you will open this and show me this potion.” The coldness in his eyes was several degrees closer to absolute zero than Kolya’s had been. “Then finally,” he added with a glance back at his entourage, “we can slaughter the last of those decrepit old priests who hide in their Enclave praying to a long dead exile from a forgotten world.”

  The men with him nodded agreement and voiced their approval. Rodney was certain that the groan coming from the Major’s direction wasn’t entirely due to physical pain. The degree of his own monumental blunder had only just begun to sink in when, naturally, someone felt it necessary to state the obvious.

  “You… You lied to us,” Yann blurted to Balzar. “You lied to everyone! You told us that it was the Chosen who demanded payment for transport into the Citadel.”

  “That fool Kesun is run off his feet all day in exchange for a few tokens of appreciation. But while he mig
ht have the power to operate the transports, it is we who control the inns and Sanctuary Halls. And once we have this genetherapy, we can finally be rid of the Chosen and anyone else adhering to that pathetic cult of theirs.”

  “You led us to think… You knew the truth all along, why the Chosen rarely came to our village, yet you deceived us with lies twisted to suit your purpose!” The look of betrayal on Yann’s face was almost pitiful. He turned to Rodney and added in a plaintive voice, “I believed it was the Chosen who were secretly storing food!”

  Balzar’s laugh was a short, ugly bark of disdain.

  “You stole from us and turned our hearts against the Chosen,” Yann spluttered, barely able to get the words out past his outrage. “For what? To stuff your own bellies?” Eyes wild with panic, he added, “You cannot do this, Balzar. The Chosen have warned us countless times. Those who defy the will of Dalera will bring the Wraith upon us all!”

  “You young fool. Anyone with eyes to read the teaching windows knows that the Wraith come, no matter what ‘laws’ those witless priests invoke. There is no way to fight the Wraith. Only those with foresight to plan for the great cullings will survive. There is sufficient room in the bowels of the Enclave to hide several hundred, and this—” He snatched one of the P-90s from the goon’s hand. “—and others like it that we took from your friends, will aid us in making certain that only those that we choose may enter.”

  “Enough!” Gat’s attention shifted from Balzar to Rodney. “The potion.”

  Still reeling from the impact of this revelation, Rodney fell back on the streak of stubbornness that he’d employed with Kolya. “Fine,” he snapped. “Whatever you want. But it’s like I told Yann.” He pulled out the box of prepared syringes and opened it so that they could all see. “Only Lieutenant Ford knows how to administer it.”